Nice is nice

Going to Nice this time, which is not as exotic as where I left off last time I recounted my travelling on this site (last blog was more of a spiritual voyage). Ok, it is by the Mediterranean sea like Israel, but that's about where the resemblance ends.

This is what I know about Nice:

• three hundred and some thousand inhabitants (not counting the urban) which is also the population of Iceland
• was not a part of France until sometime in the 18^th century
• became (and is) a popular destination for rich and frigid English folk (and other weirdos)
• is the capital of the French Riviera and has a lot of wealthy, and no longer wealthy, yacht owners
• is close to Monaco, where Grace lived (and sadly died)
• Cannes film festival is held yearly in the nearby city Cannes (hence the name)
• is named after Nike, the goddess of victory (something about the Romans founding and naming the city after a victory of some kind nearby)
• has its own salad that contains tuna and olives, amongst other yummy things.

During my horrible semester in Toulon in the beginning of 2009, I found myself going everywhere but to Nice. I realized that I am much more of a Marseilles-girl if anything. But I think I have passed through there once or twice on my travels to/from Corsica, but in my pre-judgemental state I floored it as soon as we drove off the boat and couldn't drive fast enough the little distance between the port where the Corsican ferry docked and through to the city limits.

Don't ask me why I did that. I judge things. It its my first reaction. I've learned to treat it like an appendix: totally useless, but when active it is extremely painful.

So now I've left my judgement in Paris (where it will be well nurtured until I pick it up again). I dropped it the minute I got on the train. God really wants me to go to Nice, in spite of my reluctant attitude and total confusion of what I'm supposed to be doing there. In spite of me oversleeping and unnecessary lingering in my kitchen, I still made the train (although not one more minute to spare).

The only thing is to surrender to the fact that this mission will make sense a posteriori rather than a priori.

Kind of like life itself, n'est-café!